loyalty, priority, and other words that end with y
by Ravenspear
Summary: Gabriel never learns, and history always repeats itself.  Gabriel/Jibril, Gabriel/Castiel.


**Title:** loyalty, priority, and other words that end with a "y"**  
Character/Pairing: **Sevothtarte, Gabriel. Gabriel/Jibril and Gabriel/Castiel mentioned.  
**Summary:** Gabriel never learns, and history always repeats itself.

* * *

Sevothtarte likes museums. All that beauty; clean and sterile, hermetically sealed. Not to touch, not to dirty. It's a bit like the Heaven he's trying to build, really.

He likes museums, so when he is forced to take on a vessel and walk the earth, a museum is where he goes. Searching for his quarry would be futile; his quarry will find _him_, eventually. Sevothtarte has waited for a very long time; he can wait a few days more.

It is on the third night (night of the new moon, how auspicious) that the flutter of wings alert him that he's no longer alone.

"You are _really_ not very good at hunting," Gabriel says.

"You're here, aren't you?" Sevothtarte replies. He's studying an old stone tablet, filled with those quaint little stories humans like to tell themselves about why they exist. His lips twitch in amusement underneath his mask. "I knew you'd come; your curiosity would not let you stay away."

"Well, it _is_ a pretty interesting thing; the Prime Minister himself, putting on a meatsuit to come kill one measly little exile. Don't you have, like, _military_ for that?"

"I would not waste soldiers on trying to erase you, Gabriel, even if your death was my intention. You used to spar with the Morningstar, once upon a time; I have not forgotten how good you are at defending yourself." He turns to face his long-lost brother, this prodigal son who defiled himself in his sister's bed. "I am here to talk."

Gabriel snorts. "What could we _possibly_ have to talk about? Last time I say you, you exiled me, remember?"

"I gave you the _option_ of exile," Sevothtarte corrects. "I was merciful, when the law said to put you to death, and brand your sister's face with the mark of a whore." _(His cheek does not sting, his chest does not feel hollow, not at all.)_

"Yeah, real merciful," Gabriel replies, humorless grin on his lips. "So... What did you want to talk about, then? _Mister_ Prime Minister?"

"I want you to work Heaven's will."

Gabriel looks stunned. Then... Then he laughs. "Oh man, _that_... That is _priceless!_ That is some Grade A comedy, right there, bro," he speaks around burst of laughter.

"I am not joking, and I do not appreciate your flippancy," Sevothtarte bites out, stays his hand from lashing out.

Gabriel stops laughing, but still has that insufferable grin on his face. "Okay, so... _what?_ You want me do what about this situation, exactly?"

"I want you to steer the Winchester brothers down the path destiny has prepared for them."

"You must not have heard, that didn't go so well for me the last two times I tried," Gabriel says, sarcasm thick in every word.

"But you are in their confidence now," ('wouldn't exactly call it confidence,' Gabriel mutters), "you are in a position where you enjoy more of a power over their _thoughts_, rather than a power over their bodies. You could do good work from there."

Gabriel shrugs, looks around, puts his hands in his pockets. "I guess. But the problem with that would be that I don't _want_ to." When his eyes turn back at Sevothtarte, they glow like sunshine filtering through water. "I've made my choice in this fight. And my choice is _them_. Them and the rest of this miserable, fucked up, and absolutely _amazing_ world they've got going here."

The rage is white hot and furious Sevothtarte's chest, and Gabriel (who is very clever, but sometimes cannot see what's right in front of him) has no time to avoid the brutal force of his brother's attack. Before he's able to get his equilibrium back, Sevothtarte has him backed against a wall, sword pressed against the soft flesh under his chin.

Sevothtarte is going to scream at him, curse him for his lack of respect and loyalty and gratitude. The words are on his lips, but then he senses it; the _smell_. Gabriel reeks of it, the smell that makes Sevothtarte gag in his sleep.

His voice carries a calm and a steadiness he does not feel when he speaks. "Oh, Gabriel. Can't have your sister, so any angel you can get your hands on will do?" His gloves are staining red from where he's nicked Gabriel's chin, and he'll have to burn them later. "You never learn, do you?"

"Go to fucking Hell, Sevothtarte," Gabriel spits, and his eyes are like furious waters.

"No, I don't think I will," he replies. "But _Castiel_... Now, Castiel _might_, when I'm done with him. It will be fitting punishment for his multitude of crimes, don't you think? Betraying Heaven, killing his former comrades in cold blood, and then _whoring_ himself to a disgraced exile pretending at godhood." Sevothtarte smiles. "I'll try to make sure you'll be there when I cut off his wings. Unless..."

"Unless _what_, you sack of _shit_?" And my, my, my, Gabriel must really care for the boy, if the fear in his eyes is to be believed.

"Unless you do as you're _told_, Gabriel. The apocalypse will go on as scheduled; the Winchester brothers will play their parts. And maybe Castiel won't have to suffer."

"Fuck you," Gabriel says, but he is already giving in; already choosing Castiel's safety over any other responsibility. Just like he'd once chosen _Jibril's_ safety.

"Just remember where your priorities should lie, Gabriel," Sevothtarte says as he steps back, let's Gabriel go.

The flutter of wings is instantaneous, and then Sevothtarte is alone again, in his lonely simulacrum of a perfect Heaven.

No, Gabriel never learns, and for this Sevothtarte is grateful. A less predictable man would make a less satisfactory pawn.

Sevothtarte laughs, and then the museum is empty.


End file.
